Probably Not
by R.L BlackRose
Summary: A short one-shot for 'let-us-have-dinner', for a Johnlock Gift Exchange. Sherlock is in trouble with his school again.


Sherlock sat glumly outside the principal's office, hands deep in his pockets. He kicked his legs across the floor, shifting on the hard wooden bench. Finding this boring, he leaned back, peeking through the window out of the corner of his eye.

The window was made with cloudy glass, so he couldn't see in- but he could see silhouettes. That of his parents, sitting at one side of the table, and the principal on the other side.

Sherlock decided that he'd rather not look anymore, and returned to his foot-kicking.

He was so bored, bored, bored! It wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. All he'd done was tell the class their teacher had been sleeping with the art instructor. He had to- he couldn't bear to see the teacher hiding it, keeping it to herself. All these adults kept preaching that truth is the most important thing- but did they really believe it, in the end?

Sherlock sighed.

In hindsight, though, it hadn't been a very good idea at all. Especially since this might still be his teacher for the rest of the year- if he didn't get kicked out, that was.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He noticed that there was another kid sitting on the other side of the bench, covered in bandages. He'd been in a fight. If he was the only one at the principal's, and you need at least two people for a fight, he must have been the one who started it. Sherlock's eyes passed over him, noticing the amount of bruises peeking out of the edges of his clothes. More than one person involved against him. Maybe he'd been provoked, and he'd been beaten up.

_What am I even doing here? _Sherlock thought, putting his head in his hands. _Why can't I just shut up?_

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Sherlock knew who it was, just by the sound of his breathing.

He looked away as Mycroft sat next to him. His brother leaned forward to see his face.

"That was incredibly stupid of you, you know." Mycroft said.

Sherlock turned to him, just a fraction. "You know what happened?"

"Of course." Mycroft said. "It's all over the school, and- are you _smiling_?!"

Sherlock turned quickly, but Mycroft had already seen a sly smile cross his face.

"It's really _all_ over the school?" Sherlock said. "How many people know about it?"

Mycroft shook his head, sighing as he stood up. "Probably the entire seventh grade," he said, "But it's _nothing _to be proud of, Sherlock!"

The sound of the bell pierced the tension in the air, and Mycroft stalked off.

Sherlock leaned back, against the cold frosted window behind him. Why couldn't Mycroft understand? He was just using his skills, the skills he'd been born with, and there was nothing wrong with that.

His parents had even sent him to a special school, because he wasn't making any friends and he wasn't cooperating with teachers. He got kicked out of that one, too.

_Why is it so hard?_ He thought, steepling his hands and leaning forward. _I just want to expose the truth. And I'm bored. And there's just so much going on, so much that I can solve- why won't they let me? I-_

"Hey." he heard. "You. What's your name?"

He turned, surprised, to find that the kid he'd noticed earlier was now looking at him. He had sandy hair, and dark blue eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said. Why would this kid be talking to him? Did he want to make fun of-?

"Did you really do that?" the kid said, leaning forward with a mischievous look in his eye- "Figure out that the teacher was cheating on her husband?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

"But _how?"_

"It wasn't very hard." Sherlock said, turning to face him. "Her hair was disheveled and she came in late, so she had left in a rush. She also kept checking her phone, as if she was nervous about something- and when it rang, she jumped. There were also other things-"

"Wow." The kid said. "That's- that's amazing!"

Sherlock paused for a second, giving him a curious look.

"You really think that?"

The kid nodded.

"What's your name?"

"John." The kid said, extending his arm and sliding over the bench towards him. "John Watson."

Sherlock took his hand and shook it, then looked him in the eyes. "How many people were you fighting?"

John blinked for a second. He sighed, letting his hand fall to the bench beside him. "A few. Three, four."

"Why?"

"They made fun of my sister." John said. He was short, so his feet just barely touched to floor. He watched them dangle. "They said she was stupid."

"Is she stupid?"

John looked down. "Yes."

"Then why did you hurt them?"

"Because it's my sister."

Sherlock nodded. He thought of his own brother. Would Mycroft do the same for him?

He turned, looking over the strange kid beside him. He was full of cuts and bruises and a strange kindness that seemed to leak from the very seams of his being.

Suddenly, there was loud talking from inside the office. They both turned, and pressed their ears up to the frosted glass behind them.

"I am sorry, Mr. Holmes, but we cannot have your son in this school!"

Sherlock felt a wave of dizziness coming on, and moved his head away. No- not now. Not while he had just met John, who seemed to have at least a shred of decency. Not while Mycroft was still in this school, and there was the possibility that he would do well, and his parents and Mycroft would be proud of him and acknowledge him and not treat him like there was something wrong with him-

The door of the office opened, and his parents walked out.

They fixed him with a look- not an angry look, worse than that. A weary look.

Sherlock stood up, casting one last glance at John.

"Will I ever see you again?" John said.

"Probably not." Sherlock said. He looked down at the ground, watching his feet as his parents led him away.

John watched him go until he rounded a corner and was gone.

He leaned back, wishing he could go with him. Wishing that he didn't have to go home, to face his drunken father after the principal called.

He put his face in his handz.


End file.
